


The Side of the Angels

by Bluebell22



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Doctor John Watson, Married Mary Morstan/John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebell22/pseuds/Bluebell22





	The Side of the Angels

“Well, I bloody well don’t know what to do with her, do I, John? You’re supposed to be the doctor of the family!” cried Harry.

“Talk to your daughter, Harry,” John said wearily. “I don’t have time for this, not with my own on the way.” 

He turned on his heel abruptly, leaving Harry stark white, her face covered in tears. John was no longer affected by his sister’s waterworks; and as for his niece, well… Harry had spent the last two decades shuttling her from boarding school to boarding school. It wasn’t John’s fault that she wasn’t up to playing mum. John had tried more than once to help out with Kylie, but Harry had kept him at arm’s length. Her drunkenness had made her a terrible mother; her pride even more so. 

After his brief exchange with Harry, John picked up Mary’s favorite flavor of ice cream from the super and without even indulging in a row with the chip and pin machine, headed back to the house he shared with her. 

“Mary, dear, I got mint chocolate chip, your fave-“ John broke off when it became clear that someone else was in his living room. A small girl with disastrously curly hair and gratuitous eye make up sat in his favorite chintz armchair that he had rescued from Baker Street. Her eyes were red and puffy, and Mary was patting her hand reassuringly. 

“Uncle John?” the girl began hesitantly. 

“Kylie!?” exclaimed John. 

The girl looked nothing like she had as a child. A short black dress clung to her skeletal body; her thick matted hair framed a thin freckled face. She reached out to John uncertainly, as if to hug him, and then seemed to think better of it. 

“I was just-er-talking to-um…”

“Mary,” Mary provided politely.

“Mary,” conceded Kylie. “I’m sorry, Uncle John. Mother told me you lived here now, and I just couldn’t stand to be in her house for another minute… her and all her drunken rows with the neighbors… I know it’s been years, but…”

Suddenly, seeing her in front of him, John felt a surge of guilt for dismissing Harry’s pleas for help as nothing more than drunken antics. John had been thinking only of distancing himself from his sister; he hadn’t bothered to wonder if Kylie was okay. 

A couple of hours later, Kylie sat on John and Mary’s sofa, clutching a cup of tea and muttering thanks, wearing an old soft cotton dress of Mary’s. A knock came at the door. 

“That’ll be Sherlock,” John said, getting up to answer the door. He hesitated. “Er, I suppose I should warn you, Kylie-he’s a bit- well… he’s…,” John trailed off lamely. Experience had taught him that there was simply no preparing people for Sherlock. They got the gist, eventually. He opened the door, through which Sherlock stamped importantly. 

“Lestrade is going on about some blasted drug cartel in east London…. As if I have the time to waste… I should refer him to Mrs. Hudson, she practically ran one in Florida…” Sherlock stopped abruptly, blinking at Kylie in an uncomprehending and rather unflattering way. “A client, John? Here? Is this why you asked me to dinner? Some friend of yours that couldn’t be bothered stopping by Baker Street? I’m assuming from the bruising on her neck and wrist that she’s covered rather poorly with concealer that she wants us to track down some boyfriend or-“

“SHERLOCK!” cried John and Mary together. John was thunderstruck. He had registered none of this. Mary was less so, though she had incorrectly attributed the bruising to Harry. Kylie’s eyes had filled with tears. She looked as if Sherlock had smacked her. 

“Uncle John, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll- I’m going to- I think I need to just-“ she blustered. She whirled toward the steps, casting one terrified look back at Sherlock and hurtling for John and Mary’s guest bedroom. 

“Your-your niece John? I… she…. I assumed she was a client,” Sherlock said sheepishly. Inwardly he cursed himself. Of course, his niece. Kylie. Mentioned twice in the past 5 years. He was infuriated, less with his lack of tact than with his mistake in observation. 

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, seeming to be gather himself for yet another lecture on tact when there came a sharp knock at the door. To John’s further exasperation, Sherlock leapt to answer it. 

“Not your house, mate,” John remonstrated, following in Sherlock’s wake to the door. 

A short, burly young man stood on the doorstep, eyes shifting from Sherlock to John in apparent agitation. 

“You guys seen Kylie?” he asked rudely.

John opened his mouth then closed it abruptly. He looked at Sherlock, as if expecting him to have some idea of who this was. 

“No, we haven’t,” Sherlock lied breezily, immediately slamming the door in the kid’s face. He turned to face John. “His hands are the exact size and shape of the ones that made the bruises on your niece. I suppose it could be coincidence, but as Mycroft is so fond of reminding me, the universe is rarely so lazy.”


End file.
